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I think the heatwave here has made everyone crazy. That can be the only explanation for the week I've had. I mean yes, I know it sucks when it's hot, I know you're uncomfortable, I know the whole city smells like rancid beer farts, but let's not take it out on each other, hmm?
Who am I kidding. This wouldn't be Belfast without pointless hostility and grudges.
TL;DR: People are dicks
If I don't respond to a question or when you say "excuse me", then don't start screaming at me/just shove me out of the way and give me the evil eye... why not try, I don't know, coming round and addressing my face rather than my back?
It's got to the point where I have to explain to strangers that I've gone almost completely deaf in my right ear (thanks to a misspent youth of rock shows and festivals and giant speakers within a foot of said ear) because no one seems to be willing to give anyone else the benefit of the doubt.
Does anyone else have this problem?
The Day Of The Three Penises
Has anyone else ever seen no less than THREE penises belonging to complete strangers in a single day?
(NB: Sheldon, if you are reading this, you are obviously exempt from this question.
)
Penis The First: While walking into the town, I turned down an alleyway to cut through to Boots... and promptly interrupted a drunk man peeing behind a bunch of bins. Nice. I wish I could say it was the first time this had happened, but it's not. It's not even the first time this WEEK... in fact, it happens enough that there is strict etiquette around such a situation. Eyes should be averted, no words should be exchanged, and no one should break step or even hesitate - in other words, pretend you saw nothing.
This drunk did not follow said etiquette.
Drunk: *steps back from bins, waving penis* Ayyyyy lovie, what youse think of this, huh?
Me: *eyebrow raise* Cold, is it?
Drunk:
And then he peed on his shoes.
Penis The Second: In Poundland, I was picking out the usual plethora of travel items, when I felt a tug on the back of my skirt. There was this little kid standing there, maybe about three years old, big blue eyes, messy brown hair... and COMPLETELY NAKED.
Me:
Boy: Hihi!
Me: Uh... *crouches down to his level and strategically positions bag to shield the poor kid a little from the main thoroughfare* where's your mummy and daddy, sweetheart?
Boy: They went away. *grins* I went weewee in the sweets.
Me:
(Poundland has many, many sweets, and I pity the poor person who found wherever it was this kid went "weewee.")
Boy: Then I showed that lady my peepee. *grins more*
Oh good, this just keeps getting better and better. I sighed, grabbed the kid's hand, and started looking for a sales assistant.
Enter Man.
Man: Hey, that's my son! Get away from him!
Me: This is your son? (because I can think of 101 things I want to do to you if he is, you neglectful douche.)
Man: Yes, he's my son! Give him to me! *reaches out for the boy, who cowers behind me*
Me: OK. *picks up boy and covers him with bag* Can you prove you're his father?
Man: What the hell do you mean, PROVE I'M HIS FATHER?
Me: Well, he doesn't seem to like you all that much...
Man: FUCK, just GIVE HIM TO ME RIGHT NOW YOU BITCH, I-
Boy:
Me:
Look, as far as I know, a man I've never met has come up to a little naked kid in a store and tried to take him away. You could be his father, or you could be a sicko. Either way, unless you can show me something like a photograph that proves he's your kid, you're not taking him. *grabs passing assistant and gets him to page security*
This one I did not care for at all. That isn't to say I enjoy drunks waving their dicks at me, more that it raised uncomfortable questions with me about what exactly is going on in this kid's life. For one thing, who the hell lets their tiny toddler out in public, let alone LETS HIM LOOSE IN A SHOP, while he's COMPLETELY BUTT NAKED???
Hell's bells.
Penis The Third: Before heading home, I stopped into one of the local shopping centres to use the loos. There are some much quieter ones on the ground floor, which is nice because I have a weird thing about peeing when other people can hear me... but it does also kind of leave you open to stuff like this.
Me: *walks into bathroom*
There was a man PEEING IN THE GODDAMN SINK.
Me: ...What the hell are you doing?????
Man: Gerrout o' here youse in the men's!
Me: No, YOU are in the LADIES.
Man: FUCK YOUSE THE LADIES DON'T HAVE NO URINALS
Me: No, but that doesn't change the fact that this IS the Ladies, and YOU'RE peeing in a sink.
Man: *looks around* *yanks up zip and runs*
Me:
Bonus cat story!
A couple days back, my cat Francis got into the cupboard and into a box. Said box promptly slipped (the cupboard is not organised. Rather than the neat stacks I aspire to, the boxes resemble some twisted storage version of Jenga) and fell inside another box. This short-circuited the poor cat's tiny mind and he spent the next TWO HOURS howling to be let out... while I had to to dig my way through the piles of junk to find out where the hell he'd managed to trap himself
Well, fuck you too
One of my many stops on my epic mission for cheap travel items was M&S, sainted land of large cup sizes and small back sizes and, in this case, modest swimwear (I don't just mean any bathing suit that isn't a tiny string bikini thing that your ass hangs out of, I mean bathing suits that cover more than the average sundress.) Now, I have bikinis. In fact, I have five, which is a ridiculous number for someone who lives in a country where the number of sunny days per year can be counted on one hand, but that is irrelevant. What IS relevant is that I am visiting a very modest, religious area (Gaza) and while I do intend to go to the beach one day with my host's family, that doesn't mean it's T&A o'clock.
After a hunt around, I find a black one-piece suit with a flared mini skirt attached and a high backline. Perfect. Clutching my prize, I head to the fitting room, take the number card from the assistant, and-
Assistant: Nice swimsuit.
Me: Thanks? (NB this swimsuit was good for what I needed, but was in no way nice)
Assistant: They're great if you don't have the figure for a bikini.
Me:
I mean, really? Yes, I'm not a stick, but I'm also not a heifer. I mainly go to M&S because I have giant recalcitrant boobs that tend to break free of any bra of less-than-solid construction! The suit was UK12 (US8)! That's NORMAL! And more to the point, even if I was a size 00 or 50, it's not your place to comment on it! It's NO ONE'S PLACE, unless they are specifically asked their opinion, and even then only if they are close to the suit-wearer!
Bitch.
I'm sure there was more, but my housemate is bitching me out because her computer is broken and I said we could watch Malcolm in the Middle on my computer. Sigh. If I remember any more, I'll post them in the comments.
Anyway, soon, I shall be in Gaza, and I'm sure there are SCs there too... so tune in next week and I should have some good stories for you
Who am I kidding. This wouldn't be Belfast without pointless hostility and grudges.
TL;DR: People are dicks
If I don't respond to a question or when you say "excuse me", then don't start screaming at me/just shove me out of the way and give me the evil eye... why not try, I don't know, coming round and addressing my face rather than my back?
It's got to the point where I have to explain to strangers that I've gone almost completely deaf in my right ear (thanks to a misspent youth of rock shows and festivals and giant speakers within a foot of said ear) because no one seems to be willing to give anyone else the benefit of the doubt.
Does anyone else have this problem?
The Day Of The Three Penises
Has anyone else ever seen no less than THREE penises belonging to complete strangers in a single day?
(NB: Sheldon, if you are reading this, you are obviously exempt from this question.
)Penis The First: While walking into the town, I turned down an alleyway to cut through to Boots... and promptly interrupted a drunk man peeing behind a bunch of bins. Nice. I wish I could say it was the first time this had happened, but it's not. It's not even the first time this WEEK... in fact, it happens enough that there is strict etiquette around such a situation. Eyes should be averted, no words should be exchanged, and no one should break step or even hesitate - in other words, pretend you saw nothing.
This drunk did not follow said etiquette.
Drunk: *steps back from bins, waving penis* Ayyyyy lovie, what youse think of this, huh?
Me: *eyebrow raise* Cold, is it?
Drunk:
And then he peed on his shoes.
Penis The Second: In Poundland, I was picking out the usual plethora of travel items, when I felt a tug on the back of my skirt. There was this little kid standing there, maybe about three years old, big blue eyes, messy brown hair... and COMPLETELY NAKED.
Me:
Boy: Hihi!
Me: Uh... *crouches down to his level and strategically positions bag to shield the poor kid a little from the main thoroughfare* where's your mummy and daddy, sweetheart?
Boy: They went away. *grins* I went weewee in the sweets.
Me:
(Poundland has many, many sweets, and I pity the poor person who found wherever it was this kid went "weewee.")
Boy: Then I showed that lady my peepee. *grins more*
Oh good, this just keeps getting better and better. I sighed, grabbed the kid's hand, and started looking for a sales assistant.
Enter Man.
Man: Hey, that's my son! Get away from him!
Me: This is your son? (because I can think of 101 things I want to do to you if he is, you neglectful douche.)
Man: Yes, he's my son! Give him to me! *reaches out for the boy, who cowers behind me*
Me: OK. *picks up boy and covers him with bag* Can you prove you're his father?
Man: What the hell do you mean, PROVE I'M HIS FATHER?
Me: Well, he doesn't seem to like you all that much...
Man: FUCK, just GIVE HIM TO ME RIGHT NOW YOU BITCH, I-
Boy:
Me:
Look, as far as I know, a man I've never met has come up to a little naked kid in a store and tried to take him away. You could be his father, or you could be a sicko. Either way, unless you can show me something like a photograph that proves he's your kid, you're not taking him. *grabs passing assistant and gets him to page security*This one I did not care for at all. That isn't to say I enjoy drunks waving their dicks at me, more that it raised uncomfortable questions with me about what exactly is going on in this kid's life. For one thing, who the hell lets their tiny toddler out in public, let alone LETS HIM LOOSE IN A SHOP, while he's COMPLETELY BUTT NAKED???
Hell's bells.
Penis The Third: Before heading home, I stopped into one of the local shopping centres to use the loos. There are some much quieter ones on the ground floor, which is nice because I have a weird thing about peeing when other people can hear me... but it does also kind of leave you open to stuff like this.
Me: *walks into bathroom*
There was a man PEEING IN THE GODDAMN SINK.
Me: ...What the hell are you doing?????
Man: Gerrout o' here youse in the men's!
Me: No, YOU are in the LADIES.
Man: FUCK YOUSE THE LADIES DON'T HAVE NO URINALS
Me: No, but that doesn't change the fact that this IS the Ladies, and YOU'RE peeing in a sink.
Man: *looks around*
*yanks up zip and runs*Me:
Bonus cat story!
A couple days back, my cat Francis got into the cupboard and into a box. Said box promptly slipped (the cupboard is not organised. Rather than the neat stacks I aspire to, the boxes resemble some twisted storage version of Jenga) and fell inside another box. This short-circuited the poor cat's tiny mind and he spent the next TWO HOURS howling to be let out... while I had to to dig my way through the piles of junk to find out where the hell he'd managed to trap himself
Well, fuck you too
One of my many stops on my epic mission for cheap travel items was M&S, sainted land of large cup sizes and small back sizes and, in this case, modest swimwear (I don't just mean any bathing suit that isn't a tiny string bikini thing that your ass hangs out of, I mean bathing suits that cover more than the average sundress.) Now, I have bikinis. In fact, I have five, which is a ridiculous number for someone who lives in a country where the number of sunny days per year can be counted on one hand, but that is irrelevant. What IS relevant is that I am visiting a very modest, religious area (Gaza) and while I do intend to go to the beach one day with my host's family, that doesn't mean it's T&A o'clock.
After a hunt around, I find a black one-piece suit with a flared mini skirt attached and a high backline. Perfect. Clutching my prize, I head to the fitting room, take the number card from the assistant, and-
Assistant: Nice swimsuit.
Me:
Thanks? (NB this swimsuit was good for what I needed, but was in no way nice)Assistant: They're great if you don't have the figure for a bikini.
Me:
I mean, really? Yes, I'm not a stick, but I'm also not a heifer. I mainly go to M&S because I have giant recalcitrant boobs that tend to break free of any bra of less-than-solid construction! The suit was UK12 (US8)! That's NORMAL! And more to the point, even if I was a size 00 or 50, it's not your place to comment on it! It's NO ONE'S PLACE, unless they are specifically asked their opinion, and even then only if they are close to the suit-wearer!
Bitch.
I'm sure there was more, but my housemate is bitching me out because her computer is broken and I said we could watch Malcolm in the Middle on my computer. Sigh. If I remember any more, I'll post them in the comments.
Anyway, soon, I shall be in Gaza, and I'm sure there are SCs there too... so tune in next week and I should have some good stories for you
" - Jester, about me 
Also, that brown stuff you see in the white cylinder thing where you're meant to sit? That's... not rust. 
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